Just Cause We Arent Real Doesnt Mean We Don't Feel
by Kittie Emily
Summary: Just because we aren't real doesn't mean we do not feel. Roy can't stand this anymore, it's time for the justice he team deserves. Rated M for attempted suicide, self harm, and angst.


What was the point of this anymore? He had betrayed them, had them do the worst possible thing that their young minds could have never dreamed of doing. They were forced to battle their mentors because of him. Because he was the mole he had accused everyone of being. It wasn't fair to them, his purpose, and his creation, to be nothing more than a spy to destroy them from the inside out. They were kids, over all. Just… kids. He'd done such wrong, he never expected forgiveness.

It made him sick when they all forgave him without a second thought. He didn't deserve it, there was no justice in that. He fled, as far away as he could. He hide and swore to find the real Roy Harper, just so he could replace him. Red Arrow didn't exist, he was created for evil. He deserved no friends, no one to rely on. He deserved nothing except for death.

They'd be better off without him.

He found himself in his apartment. The one that was a bit nicer than what he deserved. Oliver still funded him, or tried to at least, at this point. He wanted to trash it, rip the walls down. Release this… whatever it was that was burning himself of him. Let people see how he felt.

But could he even really feel or was this just a program they trained this body to have?

He had contemplated it, more often than not. No one would miss him; maybe they'd even throw a party…

"_That stupid traitor is finally gone, 'bout time." Roy could hear Wally's voice, uncharacteristically dripping with distain._

"_Yeah, wonder why we had to pretend to even like him." There was Dick's voice, snarky and loathing. There wasn't the carefree mask he put in front of the others. _

"_I must agree, my friends. How does one even go about befriending such viral scum?" And there, Kaldur. He—_

Roy grabbed his hair, pulling at it as his butt hit the ground. The archer curled into himself as his shoulders shook.

He was nothing, no one would care. It would be easy, hell he doubted Oliver would even notice. Why would he notice his failed adopted son? He'd just go get a new one to replace his broken one—

He wasn't even Oliver's adopted son. He was just the clone of the original. Roy let out a pained choked sob as he slammed the side of his fist into the carpet. His fist opened to a palm as he gripped at the fabric looking for any bit of stability from it.

Maybe he was better off dead. No one would miss him, he doubted he'd miss any of them if they were in his position… no. He'd miss them all but they weren't him. They knew they were worth something, Roy knew they were worth something… but him?

He had no family, no one to turn to. He was just a worthless clone, he was nothing like Superboy. Roy had been used and worked perfectly. There was no redemption for him. Well, there was one way to redeem himself…

_Death._

Roy took a breath and let the word play in his mind. Death, the end to pain, to suffering, to evil, to everything. Death could cure all; death could expunge evil and cruelty from the world.

Wasn't that what he was? Cruelty, betrayal, injustice? Did he deserve this fate he had resigned himself to?

In his mind he shouted a yes. A steeled resolved allowed him to sit up and wipe away the false emotions from his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. Roy Harper's body stared back at him. Red hair, blue eyes, chapped lips, muscled.

Was this what the real Roy would have looked like?

The archer squeezed his eyes shut, pushing himself off the ground. He shut his eyes before walking to the mirror that was in front of him. He slowly opened them, watching the reflection in the mirror. He vaguely remembered a weird song from a movie. Something an Asian woman sung about not fitting in or something. He couldn't remember it completely but he remembered the most iconic of lines.

_Why is my reflection someone I don't know…?_

A fist lashed out, slamming into the mirror. Pain erupted from his fist but he didn't care. It felt so good to just _hit_ something. He punched, and punched, and punched into the shards of glass were embedded in his skin. With every moment of his hand they seemed to go deeper and deeper and it just felt so God damn amazing. The pain was something he knew was real and not some trained reaction.

No one in their right mind would train a clone to feel pain. It was the only reason he knew it to be real. To be truly himself feeling such conflicting emotions.

The red head's chest was heaving from effort as he strange into his broken reflection. There were so many Roys staring back at him but none of them were whole. That was his true reflection staring at him, not something made up or created.

For the first time he gave an honest, true smile. The Roys in the mirror all responded back with their own feign smiles. He couldn't help but laugh at how fucked up the situation was. It was a dry, barked laugh that he couldn't even remember himself having the ability to make. We let his shoulder shake lightly at the last little bit of denial leave him.

Death was the only option at this point. It had to be. He betrayed the only people that had ever cared for him. It was time to make amends and give them justice for what he had done.

The question that remained was _how_? He remembered at the orphanage a teen had tied his neck tie around his neck and had hung himself with the article of clothing. He knew people on the streets shot themselves when they didn't think they could go down any further.

Acquiring a gun would take too long and he had a tie available readily. A long one, a nice one that he guessed would be silk? Maybe not, he wasn't into fabrics and fashion like Dick. The raven haired dork would have known. He knew everything when it came to the ritzy stuff. Roy, no he wasn't Roy. Whoever he really was just stood there and tried to get away from the looks and the journalists.

Now he was just delaying the inevitable. It felt like he had all the time in the world as the red head moved to the closet, opening it, and then letting his fingers touch the fabrics that held such memories.

Were they even his? Or where they just imprinted into his subconscious as a Pinocchio joke?

With a growl he just moved to the hanger and grabbed a black one. It was strong enough to tie around his neck and hopefully keep him from breathing. He tugged in the article of clothing, giving a nod of appreciation when it didn't just break in his hands. Or fray might have been the more appropriate word. He didn't care though. In his mind he was just planning on how to do this.

He looked up, at the ceiling. There wasn't a ceiling fan in his apartment that much he knew. The ceiling's beams were exposed though and high enough were he could be a foot off the ground leaving the tie to die into his neck to end everything; his breathing, his heart, and his betrayal.

The archer thought for a moment before grabbing a chair and carrying it to right under the middle most beam in the room. The archer swallowed, almost a bit giddy. He was so ready for this. He would exact the justice no one would on himself. He hoped no one would care, just then. He hoped they'd go on with their lives and forget the traitor they had met. Or maybe they'd use him as an example. Maybe they wouldn't be so trusting of people. Maybe they'd all fucking grow up.

With a quick breath he climbed on the chair throwing the tie around the beam. It dangled loosely from both ends. He tied the tie, he still found those words too odd to be together in a sentence, around the beam. With a tug his tightened the tie to its fullest potential.

The ex-hero gazed at his work. The tie fit so perfect around the beam. His fingers trailed the fabric as he twisted it around his neck. A loop and a tight, suffocating, knot around his neck. It was painful but he could still breathe to a moderate amount.

He'd need to fix that.

The traitor shut his eyes and kicked the chair from under him. He choked for a moment; the jerking sensation was extremely uncomfortable but not all that painful. His instincts told him to grab at the tie and move it but his brain told him not to. He knew what he wanted he had chosen this.

His world started to feel fuzzy and slowly numbing. He barely heard a click and something that rattled like keys. He didn't care, he couldn't care. It just felt so…

"Roy!" A feminine voice screamed. He knew it well; it was Oliver's girlfriend's voice. He wondered why Dinah was here…

And then there was absolutely nothing.


End file.
